


Reprisal

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-10
Updated: 2008-01-10
Packaged: 2018-10-01 09:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10185827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: The Dark Lord leaves Lucius's family at the mercy of Fenrir Greyback and his friends and, after Narcissa and Draco are horrifically tortured, Lucius realises he must do something to save them and punish their enemies.  Written for the Luciusfqf at Insane Journal





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

 

A scream sweeps through the manor, gliding along corridors and rolling down immense staircases. It’s long, laborious, and it has the ring of a last scream; and, sure enough, it dies away to a distant echoing croak. 

Lucius Malfoy barely hears it. It’s strident and intrusive but all he hears is his son’s arduous breathing and his wife’s gentle murmurs.

‘It’ll be all right,’ she says. ‘It’ll all be over soon.’ Her hand trembles as it smoothes over Draco’s hair.

Lucius looks away. He can’t bear to see the blood around her nose, the gash in her lip and the ugly swelling of her eye; it’s purple and black and the woman beneath it can’t possibly be his Narcissa. The boy curled foetal on the bed, with burgundy-streaked hair and eyes that are wide and black instead of narrow and grey, can’t possibly be his son.

‘Lucius …’

And the most horrific thing of all is that Lucius is untouched. He’s dressed in his finest clothes while Draco’s are soiled and torn and Narcissa is near-naked. His hair is long and pristine like the finest silk, while Draco’s is matted and Narcissa’s is cut jagged and rough. 

And he’s spotless, while his family are blood-covered and ripped to shreds.

‘At least look at us, Lucius,’ Narcissa snarls, and Lucius looks around startled because her voice is that of a monster; no delicacy, no decency. It’s not his wife. It can’t be.

‘We have to leave, now. The Dark Lord is gone, but it won’t be long before he returns. Only Greyback stands in our way.’

‘And his fifty men.’ It’s the first time he’s spoken for six days. He’s been listening to his family scream and now his ears need to rest.

Narcissa looks away, looks down at their son. Draco hasn’t said a word, hasn’t uttered a single complaint or even whimpered with the agony he must surely be in. He’s still, like a corpse, and just as pale.

‘He’ll die, Lucius. I can’t heal him. He’ll die and then I’ll die and you’ll be the only one left and _that_ is your punishment, an eternity without us. Is that what you want?’

‘Of course not!’

‘Then act! Help us!’

‘Let me think!’

‘You have spent too long thinking. You will defy The Dark Lord and you will defy him _now._ ’

That sounded more like his Narcissa. He climbs onto the bed, swishing his cloak behind him, and crawls to her, holds her as much as he dares. She clings to him, rests her exhausted head on his shoulder and weeps.

‘Our son is going to die.’

‘No. No he isn’t.’ Lucius reaches down and touches Draco’s shoulder. He ignores the minuscule flinch and grips tightly, a solid connection. ‘Draco?’

But Draco doesn’t move. He just lies there on the green coverlet he’s had since he was twelve. He lies there and stares at a sculpture of a magnificent dragon, and struggles to breathe.

‘Draco,’ Lucius says and he makes his voice firm and commanding, and Draco flinches again and blinks. ‘You must wake immediately. It’s time to leave and I need you to take care of your mother.’

There’s no way Draco is capable of that. His foot is broken and he’s missing three fingers, but as his father speaks he starts to stir and Lucius knows his son will be strong enough to stand, to walk supported by his mother and escape.

Lucius sends Narcissa to dress and she does so reluctantly, and Lucius can see the fear in her eyes, the fear that when she turns away, everything will disappear. She doesn’t care what’s been done to her, but when she looks at Draco, Lucius sees an absolute promise of revenge. 

Lucius holds his son, sits him up and gets him to the edge of the bed. 

‘I’ll stay with you,’ Draco slurs. ‘I’ll fight,’ and Lucius smiles fondly and wonders exactly how hard his son hit his head. 

‘Mean it,’ Draco says.

‘No, your mother needs you.’ Lucius speaks with a hard tone, but his touch is gentle and tender, and Draco almost seems to melt against him.

‘I’m ready.’ Narcissa’s dress is loose and black. It looks comfortable against her abused body and Lucius wonders if it’s one of her old maternity dresses. Narcissa marches through fashion like a soldier through a trench, but Lucius knows she secretly kept the maternity dresses. 

Lucius nods and pulls Draco to his feet. Draco is deathly white now and arterial blood dribbles and splatters the carpet as he sways. He hasn’t got long so Lucius speaks quickly and clearly. He reminds Narcissa of the tunnel under the house, the entrance to it in the east wing study and the exit under the southwest corner of the rose garden. He tells them to flee as quickly as possible and not to look back. He promises to meet them later, but it’s a shaky promise for Draco to prevent a fuss; Narcissa knows the truth, that her husband’s fate is even less certain than her own. 

They leave Draco’s room together, Narcissa and Lucius supporting their son. They walk slowly at first until Draco finds a rhythm and awareness and adrenalin kicks in, driving him forward with fear overriding his pain. They pass countless doors and staircases, paintings and priceless works of art. The manor was all any of them had ever known, but Lucius felt only coldness towards it. It was a prison now, a command centre to an unprecedented darkness. The manor had never known death before, but now it reeked of it.

Inside the study, it’s dark and dusty, but it still smells of old books and parchment, ink and leather. It’s untouched and untainted, and Lucius feels one single, massive tug of regret for what he’s about to do.

‘I love you,’ Narcissa says.

‘And I you.’ He touches her cheek and Draco’s sodden hair. ‘Take care of our son.’

‘Come back to us, Lucius.’ 

He wants to promise her that, but he can’t. He doesn’t want the last words he ever speaks to them to be lies. So he holds them and kisses them and watches them leave, and even the dark fabric of Narcissa’s dress doesn’t hide the blood seeping through in long slashes across her back. Lucius turns away while he can feel the anger burn like blue fire. He can use this. 

The fury drives him back to the centre of the manor. He walks through a puddle of Draco’s blood and Lucius grows stronger. He hears Narcissa’s screams and the grunting of Fenrir Greyback in his head and Lucius feels vehement rage. He remembers Draco’s pleads, his sobbing and his desperate promises, and Lucius remembers exactly where their stolen wands were stored. 

Lucius strides into the dining room and ignores the surprised glances of Greyback and his comrades. They don’t expect the anger and the need for revenge, for they know Lucius Malfoy as a cowardly man who cares little for his family, so they let him pass with trickles of laughter and prickly jibes. He ignores them and walks the length of the table, stopping at the old bureau that once belonged to a Minister. 

Greyback realises the intention just as Lucius slides open the drawer, but before he can get to his feet, Lucius retrieves the three wands and blasts Greyback across the room with his own. There’s chaos in front him and Lucius would laugh if he felt remotely amused. They are all imbeciles and Lucius kills every last one of them with a flick of his wrist and two muttered words – all except Greyback. Lucius leaves him groggy but alive. He casts _Incendio!_ on Narcissa’s favourite curtains and locks the room. 

The rest of Greyback’s men are just as messy and unprepared, and Lucius feels a dark and righteous power surging through him. He murders them as they appear, easy as felling dandelions and, as the Manor burns and Greyback screams, Lucius starts to think he may emerge victorious and alive.

He’s never killed anyone himself before, never needed to, but he likes how it feels. It deadens him, each choked gasp and upwards roll of eyes taking away the images of his wife and son and replacing them with horrors that are almost pleasurable. 

The manor fills up with smoke, the air black and the walls blistering. It’s so hot and Lucius is sweating and struggling to breathe, but he finds each one that hurt his family and cuts them from the world. 

Outside the sun is shining bright in the sky and there are clouds that are fluffy and complicated, the sort that Narcissa likes to stare up at and annoy Draco with her guesses and suppositions. When Lucius makes it outside, he collapses on the stone steps, his chin smashing a pointless sculpture on the way down. He rolls onto his back and stares at those clouds and knows that his wife and son are looking up at the same ones. He’s not sure, though, if Greyback is really still screaming or if it’s just his own positive thinking. 

And with warm stone at his back, a blanket of sunshine over his front and the scent of scorched money and floral perfume drifting under his nose, Lucius isn’t sure he’ll open his eyes again when he closes them; but he closes them anyway because he’s a Malfoy with a Malfoy’s luck. 

 

The End


End file.
